


i wanna hold your hand so tight (i'm gonna break my wrist)

by ddeungyoon



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Peterick, i dont even know, im sad, man, this is probably angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 18:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6622393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ddeungyoon/pseuds/ddeungyoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their wedding was beautiful and Patrick cried.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i wanna hold your hand so tight (i'm gonna break my wrist)

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by [this](http://inkskinned.com/post/143147152879/he-didnt-ever-make-her-whole-but-he-was-what-her) post on tumblr. Honestly that tumblr is my favorite account ever. 
> 
> Title's taken from Pierce the Veil's song called Bulletproof Love.  
> Enjoy.

The first time Patrick met Pete, it was in a huge party. Patrick was just settled himself down on a chair when his eyes met Pete’s, and he instantly thought: _it’s Pete Wentz_ —because hell, everyone there must have known The Wentz, they’re just as big as the President. Pete stared at him wide-eyed, as if in awe and Patrick blushed.

The second time Patrick met Pete, it was in a smaller party. Patrick grabbed one of the red cups on the table and spun around, almost choked on his drink when he found Pete behind him. Patrick’s eyes were wide, he’d never expected to see Pete like… that. It’s Pete Wentz. He’s supposed to show up in larger, classier party that requires slow dancing, nice outfit and large building filled with rich people. But Pete was there standing before him, tucked in grey t-shirt beneath a black jacket, skinny jeans, converse  and a ridiculous red plaid shirt tied around his waist. Patrick opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by Pete saying: “You’re real, aren’t you?” And Patrick didn’t need to ask for a second time to understand his question. Because people nowadays have been a big forgery, fabricated behind thousand and thousand masks, some other people, like Pete, were trying to look for the remaining truth and some other people, like Patrick, were waiting to be found. Patrick said yes and Pete dragged him outside, they lied on the grassy ground and talked. Well, Pete was the one talking, but Patrick didn’t mind. He listened thoroughly to Pete rambling about everything and when Pete said he’d never been sure of anything anymore, Patrick looked at him and Pete was quiet. Patrick wasn’t sure, but it’s as if Pete was waiting. So, Patrick reached Pete’s arm and said, “You don’t have to look anymore.” And that was the first time he believed in his own words.

 

They’d started becoming friends—or so Patrick thought. A lot of times, Pete would come to Patrick’s place and they’d lock themselves in Patrick’s room, lying on the carpeted floor and just talked to each other. A lot of times too, they’d be lying on Patrick’s backyards, letting the night wind hit their skin. They’d share each other childhood stories and every so and often, Pete would ask the question in a whisper, “You’re real, aren’t you?” And Patrick would squeeze Pete’s hand because _yes I am, Pete, yes I am._

 

 

Patrick saw Pete with Ashlee, laughing at something only they knew. Ashlee was exquisite, her slender figure framed in a fancy dress that Patrick knew must’ve been very expensive, only people on Pete’s level would’ve been able to afford. Ashlee and Pete were sitting with their families, throwing banter at each other and Patrick’s grip on his glass tightened and suddenly he didn’t think he belong in the party and he asked his mother if he could go home first. Because Patrick knew she couldn’t make Pete whole, but Ashlee was everything Pete’s mother thought was the best for him and Patrick was the kind of guy Pete’s dad warned him every now and then. And then Ashlee brought up a bright smile into Pete’s face and deep down, Patrick thought: _no, no, please don’t_.

One night they strolled around a park and Pete picked a beautifully bloomed flower and walked up to Patrick who was genuinely confused. When Pete placed the flower on Patrick’s ear, Patrick shivered and stared at Pete’s smile and the words just spilled out of his mouth, thinner than the wind but blatant obvious, “Do you love her?” Pete didn’t flinch, his gaze stayed still on the flower and his smile didn’t falter a bit. He didn’t answer, Patrick knew he couldn’t.

 

 

There was the time when they came to Joe Trohman’s party, which didn’t require slow dance and nice outfit and rich people, which filled with people who smelled like weed, pathetic red cups and ridiculous games. Four in the morning when everyone was busted on the floor, on the couch, near the pool and even Joe’s parent’s room, the kitchen was surprisingly clean. Patrick and Pete were wide awake and very much sober, leaned into the counters eating some cake and laughed and laughed. They fought for the last slice, Patrick pressed into Pete with arms stretched to take the cake from him and he was suddenly caged between Pete’s legs and, eh, forget the cake, Pete cupped his chin and kissed his lips. Suddenly, Patrick was the star and Pete was the sky and it felt right, with Pete’s hands on his hips, holding him close and Patrick’s heart beat faster than their breath. When they parted, Pete’s eyes were wide in disbelief and authentically surprised, Patrick could see him about to freak out and tried to explain himself but Patrick called his name, softer than silk and pulled him in for another kiss.

Patrick brought himself to gallantly ran his hands to Pete’s chest, Pete’s neck, Pete’s sides, to every inch of Pete’s skin, every area that he’d been itching to touch for the past months. Pete brought himself to negligently ran his tongue to meet with Patrick’s, Patrick’s jaw, Patrick’s neck and he tasted like sweat and a bit of vanilla, a little of booze that someone accidentally poured on him the night before. Suddenly their clothes were annoying and getting in the way, they helped each other to get rid of them and it just happened. Patrick on the floor, writhing, breathing and Pete above him hovering, propping himself with his elbows and he knew they’d burn later but he didn’t care because Patrick was _there_ and they were sober, exchanging heat and when they finished it was morning already and they had to pretend they were drunk.

 

Some other time, they were at Andy Hurley’s place, just hanging out. Pete brought Andy’s dad’s guitar and played it at the balcony and Patrick sat next to him, tucked under Pete’s jacket, the one he wore at Joe’s party. Patrick had to pretend like he’d forgot the way Pete held him that night, the way Pete and him collided into one, sprawled on that jacket and other fabrics. When Andy went downstairs to get them something to drink, Pete leaned to Patrick’s ear and whispered, his words were delicate but they rolled from Pete’s tongue to Patrick’s ear with certainty only Patrick could grasp, “I love you.” Patrick didn’t answer because Pete’s supposed to know, so he nodded instead.

They headed back to Patrick’s place and as soon as Patrick closed his bedroom’s door, Pete’s hands found their way to Patrick’s sides, pulling him in and it happened again. Patrick believed this was just another way of ruining themselves, but he didn’t care and thought if he had to fall, he’d fall straight down. He could fix himself later.

 

Days became weeks and they were just like that. It was always PeteandPatrick wherever they went, inseparable best friends on the open. People didn’t know they stole some kisses when they were left alone for a minute, Pete’s hands would just fit on his waist or his thigh or his neck if longer. Some of the nights, they’d be together hanging out on Patrick’s roof pointing at the stars or the car passing by on the road, some other nights, they wouldn’t talk to each other, just trying to fit themselves under Patrick’s sheet while Pete fucked him into the mattress.

Weeks became months and Patrick came with Pete to a designer. Pete had come to him with troubled face and exasperatedly spoke, “I can’t decide the suit.” Patrick helped him pick out a black suit that, when Pete tried it on, made Patrick’s eyes a bit teary.

That night, when Pete sneaked into Patrick’s room, Patrick had been waiting behind the door. Pete closed the door behind him and just stood there, staring at Patrick and Patrick asked, “Are you real?” Pete flinched a little, barely visible but it was there and he nodded, eagerly, “As real as I can be.” Patrick went to kiss him and he couldn’t stop shaking when Pete pushed him into the bed.

 

 

The next day, when Pete stood in the chapel, Patrick’s breath hitched. Because Pete looked stunning in that suit and when he glanced at him, Patrick nodded and he could barely see Pete gulped. “I, Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III, take you, Ashlee Nicolle Næss, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, until death do us part.”

Their wedding was beautiful and Patrick cried.


End file.
